I still don't know the reasons for this. The boss has instructed me to write once a month, so I shall- though what about or why, I'm still unsure. I suppose I should write of Rick, though I would rather not. I feel that it is appropriate in light of my last entry.
Simply put, Our friendship did not start easily. He was not an actor, nor a member of the crew. Rather, he was a stunt man. One who risked his life for little credit- a true master of his craft. He was barely twenty when he died, barely an adult by any standards. His ability to fit in with both cast and crew was not unusual, but it did identify him.
He didn't want fame or fortune. He just wanted to be a part of something- at least, that's what he told me. He was an artistic being, he truest belonged on set just as much as any actor or director. He treated everyone as equals, with a. Certain amount of deference even to those younger than him.
I hated the man when we first met. I was but thirteen, almost fourteen at the time. We were working on some action movie, the name of which escapes me at the moment. I had just hit my growth spurt, and he was acting as my body double. He was annoying to the nth degree, friendly and spiritual when I was anything but.
He hung around me, not put off by the outward discontent in the slightest. He claimed that he needed to get a read on me, on how I worked and who I was as a person. There was no logic in those statements, after all, he only needed to know how my character would have acted, not me. He was talented enough to be able to manage that much without forcing his presence upon me.
Still, he grew on me. In my anger I grew a liking for the more dangerous things, and instead of pushing me away from the activities he simply redirected my energies. He had a certain way about him that encouraged movement, encouraged venting, but in a healthier, more productive way.
Still, I would not be fully deterred. We fought often, for he was a quarrelsome fellow. We were best friends though. Strangers in a way, for we never really spoke of deeper things, but I didn't hate him. I actually enjoyed his presence, as much as I was loath to admit such a thing.
In the end, he was trying to save me. To stop me from doing something stupid. My anger engulfed me, and I didn't care about my own career, or my fathers, or anything really. I just wanted to fight.
And then he was gone.
This was actually supposed to be month 2, but it works either way.